The Shooting Star that Destoyed us all
by Ty loves slash
Summary: Slash. Not for children.


He was walking in starlight, the cool night hues gleaming across the dip and curve of his backside and forming a startling fluorescent halo upon his crown. The moon sat high in the sky, perched behind silent wisps of clouds hanging like a shroud. His hair, a mess of pitch, ruffled slightly in the night breeze as he ambled across the grassy expanse of land.

Harry's nerves had been worked to a fever pitch as he laid in bed that evening, trying to force sleep into the pit of his belly like a warm sloshing of butter beer. Yet, the slow and relaxing caress of sleep averted his grasp, and he clutched his starchy sheets in frustration between his sweaty palms. The room was stifling, the bed curtains hanging open in a tantalizing way… as if seducing him out onto the cold floor. The moment he stepped onto the hard wood, his feet, reveling in the cool rough texture, began moving. He strode out of the dorm, the moonlight trailing after him like a child.

Before long he found himself outside the castle, bare feet meeting the delicious dew slicked grass in long strides. He knelt to the ground, for a fleeting moment, and inhaled the smell of early fall in the dirty brown clumps of grass. He stood, nose tinted in earthy tones, and gazed purposely over at the large gleam of water before him.

Tiny childlike hands, oh he felt so small for his sudden age of seventeen, yearned to delve into its murky depths. Instead of shaking the idea from his sleep deprived mind, he continued towards the lake, eyes to the sky as the clouds began to shift with the breeze.

The clouds were thinning, the full moon opening upon the lake, illuminating its soft ripples, thin waves marring the stony surface longingly.

Harry moved quickly, caught up with the flow of the wind, picking up pace and gusting down to the lake side. His feet dug into the sandy bank, and he sat down on the edge, feet dangerously close to the solemn facade of the murky lake.

His eyes gazed into the water, spotting tiny flutters of fish beneath the surface.

"Fish never stop moving," he muttered, remembering odd snippets of lectures from past years at his Muggle school. Fish needed to move constantly, to breathe. To breathe underwater. His mind eased back a few years to the Tri-Wizard tournament when he had dove to the bottom of the lake, searching for Ron. He had never stopped moving, had fought against the strange under water currents, always kicking his legs to stay beneath the cruel water. The water had been cold and unforgiving, and he had never stopped moving.

His toe broke the surface carefully, the icy chill of the lake running up his spine immediately. Then, as the moon bared its complete breadth across the slinky surface of the lake, a loud splashing startled Harry from his reverie. His eyes caught a sliver of golden starlight, suddenly enveloped in the chill of the lake.

It had only been a silver flickering of light, shining out of the corner of his eye, but he had been sure he saw it.

"A star," he whispered, "a star has fallen into the lake." The quickening ripples splashed madly to the shore, in small circular patterns, emanating from where the star' had fallen. His eyes widened, green pools of surprise, as the surface opened and a silver head bobbed out, rivulets of water flying all the way to his bare arm.

Large grey eyes met his own, unwavering and drunk with moonlight. The pale boy with the starry hair, sliding through the water like a slick fish, never stopping, always moving, slid effortlessly to the edge of the lake. He looked at Harry, long eyelashes clumped together with the water's want, and arched gracefully out of the water. He was naked and brilliant, his skin quickly covered in goose pimples, a reminder of the chill in the air.

He sneezed quietly, and somehow it sounded very childlike, and his nudity seemed so inconsequential. His back was to Harry, the mere line of his gentle spine eliciting some deep arousal and wonder within him.

It struck him quickly that he was gazing appreciatively over at Draco, and that he was slowly crawling towards him. Draco could feel his presence so near to him, and his cold skin buzzed with tension, so sexual. He moved his hand across the dying grass as he heard Harry's breath near his ear. His fingers splayed out, moving, always moving against the hard earth.

"You're cold," Harry whispered, not understanding the way his hand reached out for Draco's shoulder as if by instinct. Draco sneezed again, his fingers digging deeper into the earth, groping at something deep down.

"No," he replied, leaning into Harry's touch. Harry's hand was so warm, his breath hot and ragged against the nape of his neck. His silver hair clung to his face possessively, and Harry smoothed a few errant strands away from his forehead.

"It's cold out," Harry tried again, his words losing their weight on the edge of the icy breeze. Draco turned slowly towards him then, fingers frozen and dirtied lying motionless against his milky white thigh.

Harry drank in the sight of his skin, the thin but toned body curling towards him slowly.

"I was swimming," Draco said, Harry's hand moving across his collarbone, feeling the slick smoothness of his skin. They were achingly close, neither quite understanding what was happening as Draco's fingers caressed Harry's cheek. "You have dirt on your nose."

Harry leaned towards him, their noses bumping together lightly, Draco's slender fingers removing the obstructing glasses. Lips met slowly, tongues coming later in a gush of passion as Draco bit down provocatively on Harry's lip.

Draco's tongue rubbed against Harry's lightly, sweetly, always moving… slowly, quickly, never stopping. They parted for air, Harry gasping for it as if he had just surfaced from the depths of the lake, and Draco moved aside. In one fluid movement, Draco slid from the shore and into the chilly water, laying on his stomach, the curve of his back barely visible in the moonlight.

Harry shivered, sliding to the edge of the lake, staring hopelessly over at Draco.

"Come in," he purred, reveling in his nudity in the diaphanous sheen of water. Harry gulped, and slid his shirt off artlessly. He did most things, besides flying, with little grace… always moving against some tide, trying to keep himself below the surface.

He reddened against Draco's scrupulous gaze, and slipped off his boxers, watching them puddle to the cold earth. He was naked in the moonlight, staring wantonly into the lake at the sliver of star wading there.

It struck him suddenly that he was stepping into freezing water at near midnight, moving towards his bitter rival with purpose to caress. But he didn't stop, he continued moving through the water, until he settled beside Draco, and submerged his lower half to the cold.

"This is crazy," Harry breathed, his hands kneading the sandy bottom. "Do you always come out here?" Draco nodded slowly, and sat up, reaching out to Harry.

"Come here." Harry went.

"Why do you-"

"I like to be alone," he stated simply. "I thought you of all people would understand." Harry was the one to nod then, slipping up against him, moving silently across his bare flesh to lap at the hollow of his throat.

Both of them groaned at his boldness, and Harry's mind became cloudy as he felt Draco slip into his lap. They were entwined tightly, the heat residing between their slick flesh. Draco thrust slightly against Harry, his hips grinding against the other's pelvis, and they moaned in unison under the moonlight.

Harry could only move back clumsily, pushing up against Draco's chilly warmth, kissing his jaw, his chin, his shoulder… always moving. They were creating frantic little waves in the shallow water, their arousals pressing together wantonly.

"Oh," Harry moaned as Draco's own tiny hand slid down his bronzed chest and into his lap. Draco slowed his brilliant writhing, and let his hand ghost across the length of Harry's hardened arousal. Harry tensed, tipping backwards into the water, nearly submerging them both.

"Yes, move with me," was Draco's hoarse response. He took Harry's cock in hand, and pumped him once, twice… moving, moving swiftly and tightly. Harry cried out as Draco stroked him elegantly, his long fingers setting a tortuous pace. The wind began to howl, creating a rocking wave across the lake, and drowning out Harry's moans.

"Please," Harry whimpered, tipping his head back, pitch strands twirling in the tumult of splashing water behind him. Draco leaned forward and bit at his throat, their chests colliding deliciously, arousals meeting again in furious thrusts. Draco's hand was lost in the uproar of sliding skin, and they both tumbled back into the water, Harry gasping for air as their entwined bodies sank to the sandy floor.

They emerged soaked and heady with arousal, grey eyes coveting flesh that wasn't his. Draco pulled Harry to the shore, forcing him down onto his pajamas, the fierce little buttons edging into his back. They were slick with lake water, and Draco took little time in adding his own slickness to Harry's skin. He lapped at Harry's belly, the skin quivering from both the cold and the contact.

From deep within his being, Harry felt the butterflies quell his arousal just enough to keep him from coming in warm sticky bursts. Instead, he yelped and writhed under Draco's tongue, eyes shutting from the exquisite tapestry of stars above him. They were laying beneath a cloudless sky, the harsh west wind bringing autumn in wisps of gold to the trees.

"You taste so raw," Draco murmured, his tongue languidly caressing the rise of Harry's hip. "Why the fuck do you taste so raw?" His pretty little hands clawed at Harry's hips, holding them down to the earth, fingers squirming and marking him in little crescents- always moving.

"Taste me," Harry sobbed, his voice low and needy- the tone somewhat desperate as his hands weaved their way into Draco's shock of moonlit hair. The strands wrapped tightly around his fingers, their silky wetness molding against his fingers.

"Where?"

Harry groaned, his tongue battling with his brain as he attempted to form words. Draco nuzzled his face into the juncture between Harry's thighs, his tongue sneaking out to lightly flick the base of his cock.

"Here, Harry?"

"Oh, anywhere," Harry moaned, "just don't stop, please." He became so lost in his own need that he hardly realized the low guttural scream that ripped through him when Draco's mouth enclosed his pulsing shaft completely. Draco didn't stop. He swallowed him fully, growling in satisfaction as his tongue swiped across the aching head, tasting Harry's delicious musky fluids.

Harry bucked his hips wildly; sweat mingling with lake water, the moonlight shadowing him in dark midnight hues. Draco looked up at him through lidded eyes, long black lashes fluttering against his skin, and sucked harder.

"Oh yes, like that…"

Draco moaned against his flesh, devouring his hated enemy like fine curry. Harry had a taste he couldn't name. He only knew that it was highly exhilarating to taste his milky pre-come as he nibbled at the head lightly, eliciting gasps of pleasure from the lithe form before him.

"Come so I can drink you," he said silkily, his saliva dribbling from his lip in an odd fashion. Harry shuddered in pleasure, shivering against the breeze. Draco sucked him in again, tormenting his head with his quick, agile tongue and Harry could do nothing to stop his impending orgasm. His eyes slid shut, and Draco milked every bit of need from his cock. He attempted to bite his tongue as the pleasure shot through to his very core, his lust draining from him swiftly, but he couldn't halt the scream that flushed out of him.

"Fuck," Draco groaned, rising up on Harry's shaking form, wetness clinging to his bruised lips. "You're such a dramatic little slut for me." He pushed his lips hurriedly to Harry's, scents and tastes mingling between their sloppy kisses. Harry's cheeks burned a charming red as Draco spoke to him in quick whispers. "Let me fuck you."

"Just don't stop."

"Listen to me," Draco said seriously, his eyes flashing. "Suck." He held his fingers out to Harry, twirling them seductively before him, light bouncing off his paled digits. Harry nodded, and brought the fingers into his mouth, sucking with fervor. Anticipation raced through his veins as he coated Draco's fingers with his salvia, knowing very well why he was doing the task.

Harry was a virgin in every conceivable way, but he knew a fair share of fucking logistics.

Draco pulled his fingers from Harry's mouth, easing them out slowly. They stared each other down, eyes meeting with such passion.

"Now," Draco said tenderly, fingers caressing his opening, "I am going to hurt you." He thrust a finger in and Harry gasped and closed his eyes tightly, biting back the pain. "Relax, I don't want to hurt you this way." Draco's finger, knuckle deep, curled inside him, hitting a sweet spot within. Harry's eyes flew open and he moaned helplessly.

"Do that again."

"Sit still and I might." Heated moments passed and Draco added another finger, smiling deviously as he pushed his hips against Harry's leg. They were both panting by that time Draco positioned himself above Harry, entering him sweetly.

"Does that hurt, sweetness, hm?" Draco pulled out of him slowly.

"Yes." He thrust back in, and they both swore to the sky.

"How's that?"

"More." They moved slowly in the moonlight, now wet with their own perspiration, naked bodies slick with yearning. Draco gave him more, quickening his thrusts, driving Harry harder into the ground, never stopping.

"God, don't stop, please." Draco chuckled.

"That is the third time you have said please tonight, Harry," he whispered, "and I kind of like it." Harry arched up into him and they met in a burning kiss.

"Draco…"

"I like that even better, come for me again." Harry nodded and shuddered beneath him, coming untouched as he had never done before and would never do again with anyone else.

Draco bit down on his shoulder, branding him in the dark, as he came in long thrusts. Harry entwined his hands in his hair once again, guiding their mouths together.

"Don't stop."

Draco grinned, flicking his tongue out against Harry's dirty nose.

"Never."

The two figures collapsed in the dark, the moon sliding behind a sudden wisp of clouds, as if allowing the shining bodies their privacy. The wind settled to a low roar, moving slightly across the lake, fluttering silver hair until it meshed with pitch.

It slowed, it stuttered, but it never stopped. It always moved, never stopping… aching to breathe.


End file.
